The first time I found a frog in my kitchenware, my sister found one in her bed. It was the start of the second plague, depending on who you asked. If you asked me, I’d say I didn’t know. That whole week, I still saw people on the bus crying. I still didn’t see if I could help them. I can be so shy. Through the windows, mothers that might have been mine cycled by with motors revving. No one could see them. Frogs dying on the bus windows. Frogs dying on the shields of their helmets. Frogs dying on frogs. We all sat in the dark. No one could see much of everything at all, a little less than before. The bus drove on what could have been a field of breadcrumbs that the winners dropped, orgy of crushed frogs squashing over one another. The frogs on the window saying, “ploppatquackfusssshhhhhht.” The frogs on the ground saying, “phhhfttshquichewup.” In the dark, I still wondered why I was so sad.
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Hannah Nathanson‘s work has been featured in Peach Mag, Sage Cigarettes Magazine, and various other mags. She is the author of Alternative Universes (Bone & Ink Press, 2020) and was a recipient of the 2021 Academy of American Poets Prize. She spends her time in New York State, making collaborative art with her pals and chasing the impossible goal of creating a poem she actually likes. To keep up with her, visit her website at https://hannahnathanson.wixsite.com/poetry or follow her on instagram @h.annahrose.
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image: Emily Bottomley
Rejection Letters 